


Desire

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Anal Play, Bondage, Crying, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please, Watson, may I come?” Holmes begged with a trembling voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denial

“Please, Watson, may I come?” Holmes begged with a trembling voice.

Watson only lightened his touch upon Holmes’ member, caressing its engorged length. Holmes was nearing his limit and he was sure Watson could tell by the desperation in his voice, by how weak his posture was. He was slumped over, exhausted from Watson’s fierce efforts earlier. His upper body weight was entirely supported by the strappado, arms chafing after close to an hour, even with this relatively soft rope. Watson had known the position would be uncomfortable and luckily for Holmes he’d used every bit of his not inconsiderable skills with rope to form a complex supporting tie from Holmes’ elbows down to his hands to prevent any damaging strain upon the wrists.

Holmes’ feet were firmly planted on the ground, ankles tied to a wooden pole to keep them spread far apart. It had been most convenient for Watson not many minutes ago, Holmes recalled as Watson ran his other hand up the back of Holmes’ thigh. Holmes tried to lean forward just a bit more, eyes squeezed shut, needing Watson’s touch. It’d been six days since Watson had last allowed him to orgasm, and he didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Beg for it,” Watson said calmly, slackening his grip until he was just stroking Holmes with his fingertips.

“I want to come, Watson, please. It’s been nearly a week, Watson- I’ve been good! Please, you’ve had your fun with me; I did everything you asked. I took the whipping without crying out, I let you bugger me, I-”

“Really, Holmes? Of course I’ve had my fun with you; my pleasure always comes first. We’ve made that clear.” The stroking on Holmes’ phallus was nearly imperceptible now; Watson’s fingertips were brushing against him as lightly as feathers. “And you speak of the most basic things I ask of you as if they were monumental achievements. You can do better than that, can’t you?”

“Please...” Holmes panted. He was sore everywhere, his member was uncomfortably stiff, and all he could smell was hemp and tobacco and sweat. “Watson, I’m exhausted; I can’t take this any more. Please, Watson, just let me finish.”

“Disappointing.” The touch was gone, entirely. “I expected better from you, Holmes.” Watson began to loosen the rope linking Holmes’ arms to the ceiling. “Maybe you’ll perform adequately next time. This time though, really, you haven’t earned it.”

Holmes blinked back tears of frustration. He’d bungled his chance, trying to act like he somehow deserved the orgasm. Well, he did, he thought to himself bitterly, but not in Watson’s eyes. When his arms were released, Watson moving down to remove the spreader bar, Holmes stretched and winced at the pain as they returned to their usual mobility. He wanted nothing more than to touch himself, to finish what Watson had denied him, but he knew that attempting to do so in front of Watson would provoke a rather unpleasant reaction.

“Come on, you’re going to be fine,” Watson said reassuringly after removing the last of the bondage and helping Holmes over to the bed. “Just lie down and relax for a minute.”

“Thank you, Watson,” Holmes replied as he collapsed onto the bed. He was unable to keep his frustration entirely out of his voice, and Watson frowned.

“Oh, and Holmes: you are not to touch yourself until I explicitly allow you to. Even when you are alone, I expect you to resist the temptation of self-abuse. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Holmes understood perfectly. Watson always made himself quite clear, and Holmes really did try to follow his authority in these matters. This time, however, Holmes felt he might just have to make an exception. It’s not like Watson could ever find out.


	2. Disobedience

Watson knew Holmes too well. As such, he expected an attempt to misbehave in his absence and insisted that Holmes sleep in his bed that night. Holmes didn’t dare touch himself then, nor the next night when Watson repeated the order. The third night, even in Watson’s bed, the temptation was too much. It’d been over a week since Holmes had had an orgasm, and as much as he didn’t want to disappoint Watson, he couldn’t wait any longer.

Waiting until Watson was asleep was vital of course- and easier said than done. Holmes couldn’t wait until Watson already went to bed; that’d be far too suspicious. Even if he had tried, he was confident that Watson would not leave him alone unattended late at night given the circumstances. So Holmes had to wait in bed, silent and still, as he listened to Watson’s breathing.

When Holmes could wait no longer, he reached under the covers to pull down his pajamas, anxiously aware of every rustle of the sheets. Just anticipation of his own hand, the promise of release after nine days now, was enough that he was hard even before he began to stroke. The blankets were noisier than he’d like but Watson was thankfully fast asleep, unmoving, exhaling with a slow, quiet snore.

Holmes wasted no time, jerking hard and without finesse. Arousal swelled within him, uninterrupted by teasing or light touches. It was gloriously satisfying and Holmes was sufficiently caught up in self-centered lust to not feel the least bit guilty. Watson would never need to know, and really, as much as he loved Watson’s control over him, his obedience faded quickly without immediate reinforcement.

“Holmes?” Watson’s voice was sleepy, but very certainly not asleep. Holmes waited, paralyzed, not even daring to move his hand away from his erection, but it was too late. “Holmes, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” Watson leaned over to the nightstand to light a candle.

Holmes hastily pulled his night clothes back to the proper position, glancing over to see Watson’s reaction. Guilt wasn’t the first emotion that hit Holmes. No, it was fear. The look Watson was focusing upon Holmes was undeniably livid. The flickering candlelight was weak, illuminating the darkest lines of Watson’s cold glare.

“Once again, you leave me severely disappointed.” Watson climbed out of bed, taking hold of the candlestick and fetching his dressing gown. “Get out of bed.”

Extracting himself from the warmth of the blankets, Holmes wordlessly followed Watson out of the bedroom and into the sitting room. He tried to catch Watson’s eye to give him an apologetic look but Watson would have none of it. Holmes’ stomach sank; as soon as he was confronted with Watson’s disappointment, he regretted being so flippant about the whole matter.

Watson sat in a high-backed chair without armrests, setting the candle down on a nearby table.

“Kneel.” Holmes obeyed, kneeling before Watson, eyes down. “Holmes, you disobeyed me. Blatantly disobeyed me. You committed self-abuse in my bed, in my presence. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Gaze fixed upon the ground, face burning in embarrassment, Holmes did not answer.

“I cannot tolerate this disobedience,” Watson went on. His voice was calm and measured, far more frightening than if he’d been yelling. Even in anger, Watson was supremely in control of himself. Confronted by this, all Holmes’ feelings of rebellion and self-justification dissipated, leaving only guilt and embarrassment. “I try to reason with you, to treat you like an adult in our relationship. It’s clear that’s not effective. I do however hope that you are at least cognizant enough to recognize that when I punish you, it’s not out of anger. It’s not out of spite. It’s for the good of our relationship.”

Watson paused. “Holmes, do you like it when I control you? Do you like knowing you can surrender, that you can please me, that all you need to do is follow my will?”

“Yes.” Holmes did not dare go without answering any longer.

“Do you understand why I am so keenly disappointed in you, and why your disobedience merits punishment?”

“Yes, Watson.”

“Good. Now, strip.”

As sexually frustrated as Holmes was, his erection had disappeared entirely under Watson’s withering demeanor. Holmes made sure to fold his pajamas neatly as Watson watched in the dim candlelight. Upon completion, Watson simply gestured to his lap. Not for Holmes to sit, certainly, but to drape himself over Watson’s knees.

Holmes’ mind raced as he obeyed. He’d been whipped, tied up, buggered, even threatened with knives on more than one occasion, but never spanked. The symbolism was clear; as Watson had mentioned earlier, Holmes had not behaved like an adult. He had been childish, and now Watson was going to punish him in the most fitting, undignified way.

The first blow upon Holmes’ buttocks was harsh, stinging pain. Holmes gasped; he was used to a warm-up or at least some sort of preparation.

“Be quiet; you are in no position to be complaining,” Watson said coldly. “This is punishment, not play.” He hit Holmes again and Holmes bit his lip to keep from crying out.

The strikes were quick and hard, warmth rising within Holmes’ backside. His face was equally flushed as he felt utterly bare and defenseless under Watson’s hand. This was so intimate compared with the whipping and the knives; Watson liked the implements, but as the soreness rose in Holmes’ arse, he found himself craving more. Watson’s bare hand upon him, each blow solid flesh-to-flesh contact, the humiliation of being slung over Watson’s knee like a petulant child, it all sparked Holmes’ arousal again and he felt his member stir against Watson’s dressing gown.

Holmes felt a bit ill at his own reaction; this was not at all what was supposed to be happening. He had always tolerated the pain for Watson’s sake. Never before had he had to fight against writhing not from agony but from desire. This was supposed to be a punishment, to discourage him from being so focused on an orgasm, not to arouse him.

Luckily, it seemed Watson was misinterpreting his muffled noises and clenched muscles. He did not ease up but he slowed his pace. Holmes shifted slightly, hoping sincerely that Watson didn’t feel just how bloody hard he was right now. He couldn’t take much more of this, really, and then he would have to go to bed and not do anything about it. That thought was even worse than the burning sting on his arse and he groaned in frustration. Watson ran his hand gently over Holmes’ buttocks for a moment and gave them one last spank.

“Get up, Holmes.” For one terrifying moment, Holmes thought Watson had figured it out. He got out of Watson’s lap, shivering, and returned to kneeling, head down, trying to avoid any undue attention. “Get dressed and come back to bed.” Watson strode out of the room, taking the candle with him.

Holmes remained, knees pressed against the cold floor, arse still aching with warmth. He felt relieved that Watson apparently had not noticed. He wouldn’t dare try to touch himself tonight, but if this was supposed to be his punishment, Watson’s methods were not going to be an effective deterrent.


	3. Consequences

Holmes found himself in rather good spirits the next day. His arse still ached from the spanking, but it was a good ache, a pleasant reminder. Sitting down was a bit troublesome, but entirely worth last night’s experience. Whenever he thought back to Watson’s humiliating, hands-on punishment, he felt an excited stir within him.

It was going to be terribly difficult to not touch himself tonight. Then again, why even bother trying not to? Watson was a consistent man; if the punishment for masturbation was a spanking the first time, there was no reason it wouldn’t be the second time. In fact, the spanking was even more appealing at this point; it was novel and exciting compared with the predictable, self-administered hand job Holmes had been familiar with for most of his life.

Watson instructed Holmes to sleep with him again that night. Holmes waited until they had both been in bed long enough to start drifting off, but not quite reached the point of sleep, before sliding his hand under the sheets. He knew it wouldn’t take long for Watson to respond, and awaited Watson’s demand to get out of bed.

Unfortunately, the reaction Holmes received was not at all what he had expected.

“By all means, Holmes, do finish.”

Holmes froze. Watson’s voice was dangerously low. Watson had woken up again as Holmes had planned, but what Watson had said was entirely unexpected. Watson wasn’t this easily manipulated, Holmes realized, cursing himself for underestimating the other man. He had relied too much on Watson’s predictability and not nearly enough on Watson’s ability to pick up on Holmes’ intentions.

“I’m sorry,” Holmes whispered, taking his hand away, but Watson grabbed it and forced it back.

“Continue.” Watson released him and turned to light the candle by the bed.

Dread flooded through Holmes as Watson’s face was illuminated. What little desire he’d had to continue disappeared instantly with Watson watching him with a positively sneering look upon his face. He just wanted to stop, to apologize, to be thrown around a bit and then be held, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. Holmes didn’t dare defy Watson, and so he reluctantly went on.

Reaching his peak was difficult, as he was weighed down by nervousness coiling in the pit of his stomach. Nevertheless, even without his heart in it, Holmes eventually found himself reaching climax. The feeling that coursed through him was physically enjoyable, but the only emotion that accompanied it was guilt. He shuddered as he spilled all over his hand and stomach.

As he began to drift down, he looked to Watson. Watson turned away in complete disinterest, instead going to the chest of drawers. Before Watson had even opened a drawer, Holmes knew exactly what he was fetching.

“Clean off your hands. I don’t want you sullying my rope.” Watson threw a rag at him, his voice dripping with disgust.

Not looking at Holmes’ face again, Watson began to roughly strip Holmes of his night clothes, tossing them onto the floor. Once Holmes was naked, Watson began to tie the rope around his wrists and ankles, attaching one to each bedpost. He worked with harsh efficiency, not once catching Holmes’ eye, pulling the rope and knotting it around Holmes mercilessly.

Holmes watched, waiting for Watson to react or to move to get a flogger or a knife. The silence and uncertainty were worse than anything, and Holmes’ mind raced to try to determine what would happen next. However, once Holmes was properly restrained, Watson didn’t start with any of his usual implements. Watson began with touch.

The first brush of Watson’s fingertips along Holmes’ member made Holmes flinch. He was still tender after his orgasm, and really preferred to have it left alone. Watson didn’t give any indication that he noticed as he stroked the underside of Holmes’ cock. It felt nice in a way, but it was far too sensitive. He knew he shouldn’t speak, he knew he should just take it, but he wasn’t sure he could tolerate this.

“Watson...” Holmes whined.

“Do not speak.” There was an emphasis as heavy as lead on each word. “Unless it’s your safeword, you are not to say anything.”

It was reassuring that, even when Watson was angry, even when Holmes was being punished again, Watson placed Holmes’ safety first. His comfort, on the other hand, was clearly not held in the same esteem as Watson transitioned from his fingertips to his entire palm.

It was not a quick process. Holmes could not enjoy Watson’s touch; he was simply too tender so soon afterward. Regardless, even as he cringed, his body responded mechanically to arousal, returning to its earlier size. Orgasm would take much, much longer, he realized. He shifted continually on the bed in a fruitless attempt to lessen the discomfort. The dull burn of the rope as he twisted back and forth was welcome solely as a distraction from the soreness of his manhood. He kept looking to Watson, but Watson continued to gaze with hard features at the wall or at the window. This was not merely humiliating; Holmes felt utterly cut off from their intimacy. Holmes winced and floundered, that sick feeling rising within him even as he eventually spent himself onto Watson’s hand.

Watson stood and went to fetch another rag. He cleaned off his hand and returned to the bed. To Holmes’ terror, that hand went straight back to his cock. When it did not respond favorably at first, beginning to wither again, Watson took his other hand down past Holmes’ perineum to stroke his entrance. As Watson pushed past the ring of muscle with little patience and reached inwards, Holmes groaned, realizing that Watson would force another orgasm out of him regardless of what it took.

The third didn’t take nearly as long as Holmes expected. Not with Watson’s finger shoved up his arse, rubbing furiously against his prostate. He didn’t realize quite how much he’d been flailing about until he finally fell from his third orgasm, head swimming with pain that overrode any lusty satisfaction, his wrists and ankles agonizingly raw. He groaned as Watson slowly pulled the finger from inside of him, praying it was over.

The room went dark, candle extinguished without warning. Holmes was untied. He felt dizzy. Exhausted. He was too scared to cling to Watson, some notion about consequences drifting through his thoughts as he was swallowed into the abyss of sleep.


	4. Satiation

Holmes awoke to the feather light touch of Watson’s fingertips upon his chest. He shivered involuntarily as his eyes fluttered open. Sunbeams streamed in through the window, lighting Watson’s face. There were hints of sadness in his gaze and Holmes shrunk back against the sheets in shame, remembering his last night’s punishment.

“Holmes...” Watson sighed.

“Yes, Watson?” he replied hesitantly.

“You really haven’t been doing well with discipline lately.” Watson’s tone was heavy with regret, though it didn’t seem solely directed at Holmes.

“No, Watson, I haven’t.” Holmes looked into Watson’s eyes earnestly. “I am sorry.”

“I know. Perhaps it isn’t entirely your fault.”

Watson’s fingers slipped down to caress Holmes' taut stomach as he leaned in to place a kiss upon Holmes' forehead.

“Holmes, I think we should reevaluate our situation.”

“But I don’t want this to end,” Holmes protested as Watson met his eyes. “I can do better; I’ve been terribly difficult as of late, but it doesn’t need to be this way. Being....”

“Manipulative?”

Holmes paused and shied away from that word. “Subtly coaxing others into doing as I wish is something I am usually quite good at, and it’s a hard habit to break. I was a fool to think I could act as such with you, but please, Watson, I don’t...”

“Shhhh.”

Tears brimmed in the corners of Holmes’ eyes as Watson showered his face with kisses. He’d been poorly behaved, selfish, and now Watson wanted to reconsider if they should even be involved. Doubts were growing in Watson’s mind, and it was Holmes’ own fault. Holmes searched for words but, before he could articulate his concerns further, Watson spoke.

“Holmes, I’ve been too strict with you. I do enjoy my control over you, but it’s not any good if you aren’t enjoying it.”

“Watson!” Holmes’ weak interjection was silenced as Watson gently placed a hand over his mouth.

“I’m not ending this. I am saying that I am not going to be nearly so demanding. I know you wish to please me, but I haven’t done my part to make sure your needs are fully met. I will still tie you up and touch you and flog you and bugger you, but I think it’s best if I allow you orgasmic release on a more consistent basis.”

Holmes’ lips parted and he ran his tongue along Watson’s palm. A tear slipped down his cheek as his fears were washed away by Watson’s voice.

“And by all means, Holmes, if you want to be spanked, just ask. Don’t provoke me.” Watson smiled for a moment before fading into a more serious expression. “I have been too harsh. I forgive you for your disobedience, and I pray that you forgive me for my own failings here.”

Watson replaced his hand with his mouth and kissed Holmes. It was such an unbridled, pure passion on his lips, insistent and thirsting for more. Holmes began to cry as Watson’s tongue flicked against his own, sobbing silently as they wrapped their arms around each other. He was not simply with the man he loved, he was not just forgiven; Watson adored him enough that, even from his position of dominance, Watson humbled himself to offer his own apologies. Watson truly wished for their mutual happiness.

There would be plenty of time for spankings and rope and rough fucking later. For now, the soft honesty of Watson’s lips was more than enough. Finally, for the first time in weeks, Holmes was sated.


End file.
